


never gonna give you up

by orphan_account



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Crack, M/M, Pining, Possession, Songfic, do not treat this seriously i'm begging you, i guess, i'm going to slam dunk myself into the sun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 18:40:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20532731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: There's a spirit, or a siren, or -something,at the training grounds. He just wants them to talk.





	never gonna give you up

**Author's Note:**

> someone said "sylvix rickroll songfic" in voice chat and i've been in hell ever since

The days that Felix manages to convince Sylvain to come train with him are few and far between, and Felix likes them far more than he’s willing to admit.

Of course, there’s nothing wrong with training alone - he’s hardly ever _ alone _ at the training grounds anyway; not everybody is a no-good layabout like Sylvain - but even when they’re not sparring against each other, it’s nice to have the company. As irritating as his preferred topics of conversation are, Sylvain’s presence is old and familiar, like a comfortable blanket worn from years of use.

They’re testing some of the techniques they learned in class the previous week on training dummies. It’s a blessed quiet that they share, punctuated by the dull thud of weapons on burlap. Sylvain, for once, actually seems focused on what he’s doing, following through on his strikes with an ease that belies his larger frame. Something like pride bubbles up in Felix’s chest when he realizes that it's _his_ advice that Sylvain is following.

It’s peaceful enough for a Tuesday afternoon, the training grounds empty save for the two of them, when -

“Hey, Felix?”

Felix turns, patience for banter short when he’s so close to perfecting his own technique on the battered pile of rags and straw in front of him, but there’s a solemnity to Sylvain’s face that makes him pause. He lowers his sword, cocking his head the slightest bit to the side. He’s known Sylvain all his life, and he’s only ever seen this serious, measured look a handful of times. It usually means that something important is about to come out of his mouth.

Then the silence stretches on for too long, and it’s starting to make Felix nervous, so he opens his mouth to say something about it - but then Sylvain is speaking, so he shuts it again with the expectation that this will be one of the rare few times that he actually says something thoughtful.

“We’re no strangers to love,” he says instead.

Felix opens his mouth.

Closes it.

Opens it again. Sylvain has said a lot of stupid, foolish things over the past two decades, but this one has flown in from so far left field that for just a second, Felix has lost his footing entirely.

Closes his mouth.

He must look like a damn fish.

“You know the rules, and so do I,” Sylvain tells him unhelpfully from where he stands. _What is he trying to get at?_

Felix snorts, regaining his composure almost as quickly as he’d lost it. “Quit messing around, Sylvain,” he says, turning around for another round with his training dummy. “Or leave, at least, and let me train in peace.”

He’s barely gotten three hits in when his attention is wrenched away again by the distinct sound of a training lance clattering to the ground.

Felix turns to face Sylvain, ready to berate him - _ why bother coming, if he’s not going to take training seriously? _ \- but something about the look on his face stops him in his tracks. It’s almost completely blank. Like the professor’s had been, when they’d first come to the monastery. After a minute, he realizes that from the moment their eyes met - and probably a few minutes before that - Sylvain hasn’t _ blinked. _

A wave of unease crashes over Felix, and he has to wrestle the instinct to put his blade between himself and his friend.

“A full commitment’s what I’m thinking of,” Sylvain intones, all at once thoughtful and empty, and shuffles forwards, reaching for his shoulder. Felix blanches at them, because he has absolutely no idea what he could be trying to imply, but he’s pretty sure he doesn’t want it.

He swats the hand away, feeling his blood run cold when Sylvain doesn’t visibly react. “You wouldn’t get this from any other guy.”

That part sounds like something he’d say to one of his girlfriends, Felix notes with no small amount of scorn - then takes a step back as Sylvain advances, eyes still wide and unblinking.

“Are you _ possessed?” _ he hisses, scrambling backwards to put some space between himself and this strange not-Sylvain in front of him. This time, he doesn’t hesitate to raise his sword.

Not-Sylvain looks vaguely mournful at that, but otherwise plows forwards, unbothered. “I just wanna tell you how I’m feeling,” he says, his voice soft and wheedling. The sound pricks at something under Felix’s skin. A bead of sweat rolls down the side of his neck. “Gotta make you understand,” he adds plaintively, pressing onwards, heedless of the blade between the two of them.

Felix holds steady for a few seconds before he realizes that he’s going to have to lower his sword, lest he actually skewer his best friend.

“Never gonna give you up,” not-Sylvain says fervently, brown eyes shining with something otherworldly. If he hadn’t already been convinced he was under the influence of some spell, this would’ve sealed the deal. “Never gonna let you down. Never gonna run around and desert you.”

Felix swears he can feel his eye twitch.

His hands feel clammy, cold. There’s sweat dripping down his back.

He wonders if punching Sylvain will help him snap out of it, but there’s something about the aura surrounding his oldest friend that makes him hesitant to come into contact with him. Felix is no expert on reason magic, especially the darker kinds, but this feels… _ old. _ Powerful. Something not to be trifled with.

He takes another step back.

“Never gonna make you cry,” not-Sylvain says very seriously. “Never gonna say goodbye. Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you.”

Felix tries to put even more distance between the two of them and almost panics when he feels his back hit the wall. When did he let himself get cornered? This is bad. This is very bad. There’s nobody else at the training grounds, and not-Sylvain is closing in - he just barely avoids flinching when one of his hands hits the wall next to his head. Another hand on the other side, and he’s trapped, and he feels so, so small under Sylvain’s larger frame.

His sword - _ goddess, where is his sword? _ Real panic, tinged dark and coppery, floods his throat as he realizes that he’s 100% unarmed. He must’ve dropped the sword when Sylvain had started trying to impale himself on it.

“We’ve known each other for so long,” not-Sylvain says, and there’s something dark and plaintive in his voice. It feels like someone else is pulling the strings on a puppet.

Felix shudders. Wonders if anybody would hear him if he yelled for help. It’s unlikely; the training grounds are too far away, and he’s never mastered the art of getting his voice to carry across large spaces like the professor.

Not-Sylvain leans in, and the traitorous part of Felix’s brain chooses this moment to hyperfocus on the face in front of him - terrifying and familiar, all at once. Long lashes framing too-bright eyes. The slight pout of his lips. The fact that thing that is decidedly _ not _ Sylvain has forced his way very, very far into Felix’s personal space, forcing him to look closely in a way that he hasn’t let himself in years.

_ Snap out of it, Fraldarius. This isn’t the time. You’re both in danger. You have to find someone. Mercedes, or the professor - _

“Your heart’s been aching but you’re too shy to say it,” not-Sylvain murmurs, fixing him with a chocolate-brown gaze that pierces him all the way down to his soul despite carrying none of the warmth that Sylvain usually does.

Felix hates chocolate. Felix hates being seen. Felix hates this.

Not-Sylvain’s hand comes up to cup his cheek, and for a moment he’s too startled to do anything about it. _ Look how close he is, _ purrs that traitorous corner of his brain again, satisfied despite the aura of _ danger _ that still has every hair on Felix’s body standing on end. _ Close enough to reach out and -_

Felix clamps down on that train of thought, hard enough to bruise, but not before a faint blush creeps onto his cheeks.

“Inside, we both know that’s been going on. We know the game and we’re gonna play it,” not-Sylvain informs him.

Something about that last part - the fear that he _ knows, _ the insinuation that this is all a game that Felix is very clearly _ losing _\- snaps him out of whatever fucking trance he’s in. Felix doesn’t know what kind of power could’ve done this to his best friend and known exactly how to get to him, but he’s absolutely livid.

He wastes no time bringing his knee up swiftly between Sylvain’s legs, forcing him to stagger backwards. In a flash of fury and adrenaline, Felix grapples him to the ground, no longer thinking about stupid things like proximity and the heat of his breath on his lips, his hands trembling with a single-minded determinedness to make him stop _ talking - _

“Wh - ow, ouch, what the - Felix, what the hell?!”

Felix pauses from where he’s busy wrenching Sylvain’s arm into a pretzel, his hair falling out of its bun, pale face bright red from exertion and frustration and goddess knows what else. “Are we back, Sylvain? Are we back among the realm of the goddamn _ sane?” _ he snarls, sharp with both anger and relief.

Sylvain blinks up at him, covered in dust, all wide eyes and messy red hair. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he declares, wincing when Felix yanks at his arm. “Fe - Felix, I really don’t know why you’re mad!”

Felix eases his grip on the arm just a fraction, suddenly and inconveniently very aware of the fact that he’s all but straddling Sylvain.

“Ah,” he says, the flush in his face creeping into his ears. “It was. You were. Have you been - meddling with dark magic recently?”

Sylvain, stock-still beneath him, looks absolutely bewildered. _ “No?” _

Felix lets go of his arm, stands up, dusts himself off. He’s redder than Sylvain’s hair. “You should have the professor or Manuela check you for signs of it. Just in case,” he grumbles before gathering up his belongings and evacuating the training grounds at the speed of light.

Sylvain stares at the heavy doors long after he’s gone, the faintest threads of a song prickling at the back of his consciousness.

_ And if you ask me how I’m feeling, don’t tell me you’re too blind to see... _

**Author's Note:**

> i'm so angry that this exists


End file.
